


Rivers and Roads

by rivendellelve



Series: Young Outlaw [4]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur!whump, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Whump, Young Arthur Morgan, Young Dutch van der Linde, Young Hosea Matthews
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 23:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20786942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivendellelve/pseuds/rivendellelve
Summary: “You see that?” Dutch brought his horse to a stop, nodding at the figures ahead of them.“Yeah. You think they're trouble?”, Hosea asked.Of course they were trouble.





	Rivers and Roads

“You see that?” Dutch brought his horse to a stop, nodding at the figures ahead of them.

“Yeah. You think they're trouble?”, Hosea asked, hand already on his revolver.

Arthur followed Dutch's gaze. Three men were sitting by the side of the road, their horses close by. Their clothes were tattered and dirty, worn down by use and poorly mended. The horses were just as sad a sight, too, mangy and starved. These people could be simply be weary travelers. Nothing wrong with taking a break from a long day on the road. However, with a steep incline on one side of the road and a fast flowing river on the other side, this was a great spot for an ambush.

“Between the three of us, there's nothing we can't handle”, Dutch told them confidently, though Arthur noticed how he and Hosea exchanged a look and how Hosea nudged his horse closer to him. He tried not to bristle at that. His shooting might not be great, given that they'd only started teaching him recently but even he could point a gun at some hillbillies and threaten them.

“I ain't helpless”, he grumbled under his breath, albeit not quietly enough to go unnoticed.

“Just humor us”, Hosea told him with a smile.

Shame replaced anger. They were just looking out for him and here he was, acting like an ungrateful brat. He nodded at Hosea, hoping the man would not resent him for it.

The strangers had noticed them by now, moving to mount their horses as they approached. Arthur scanned their faces, watched the set of their shoulders. If he had come across them seven months ago, back when he was still on his own, he would've gotten the hell out of here. Dutch and Hosea could see it too, by the way their hands were on their revolvers. There was only one way through here, though.

“Nice horses you got there”, one of the three called out as they got closer. “Real fancy clothes, too. Nothing the like us country folk around here got”, he added.

“Gentlemen!”, Dutch greeted them, voice smooth as silk. “Fine day for a ride, wouldn't you agree? Best be on our way.”

“I don't think so.” The apparent leader moved his horse to intercept them, both of his cronies reaching for their rifles.

“Y'all better st-” Shots rang out, first two simultaneously and then another one, the three men dropping dead, making Arthur flinch, Ginger dancing beneath him nervously.

“We should-” Shouts sounded behind them, more than just a few people. Whatever they should, Dutch didn't bother finishing the sentence.

“Move, Arthur! Go!”, Dutch urged him on, both men already spurring their horses on, while turning around in their saddle and firing at whoever was coming for them. He kicked Ginger's flanks, urging her to go faster. He wanted to reach for his gun and help but he didn't dare let go of the reins, holding on for dear life as it was. Still he risked a look over his shoulder, stomach dropping at the sight. They'd run into another gang.

Dutch yelled something else, words whisked away by the wind before he could understand when the ground beneath him tilted violently, Ginger losing footing and throwing both of them forward into the river. The cold water was a shock, dragging him down and away from the shore, and tossing him around like a rag doll until he couldn't tell up from down. He struggled against the current. Something slammed into his side, driving the air out of his lungs. Hands grappling for purchase he managed to hold on and pull himself up onto the jagged rock sticking out of the water. Shouts and jeers were thrown his direction. He tried to see, blinking against the water in his eyes, hardly able to make out more than blurred shapes.

Gunshots mingled with the shouts, shrapnel biting his arms when they managed to hit the rock. Arthur looked around wildly, trying to find a way to safety. Nothing. He was stuck in the middle of the river. An easy target with no way to defend himself. He needed both hands to hold on to the rock. He'd need a third to defend himself. He looked at the men on the shore, standing there with their guns aimed at him, some of them laughing even.

He took a deep breath. And let go. He stood a better chance at surviving nature and if they decided to pursue him at least he was moving the opposite direction of Dutch and Hosea, meaning they'd have a better chance at survival. The water pulled him under again.

* * *

Someone was sitting on his chest, he was sure of it. Coughing he forced his eyes open, blinking sluggishly at the sky overhead. He looked around, or tried to as his body refused to obey, cold as it was. Probably bruised too but that was a problem for later.

Rolling onto his side, the gravel beneath him poking painfully at more than one tender spot, he saw he was out of the water just far enough that he must've done it himself and not washed ashore. Though he had no memory of it. He shivered. Though the idea of curling up and waiting for Hosea and Dutch to come for him was tempting, he should probably find a way to warm himself up.

Pushing up from the ground, fire shot through his right hand, tearing a cry of pain from his lips. He fell back down as the limp refused to support his weight. Blinking against tears he cradled his hand close to his chest, using only the other one to push himself up this time. Just sitting consumed most of his energy, pain and exhaustion weighing him down until even his eyelids felt heavy. Where were Dutch and Hosea?

Voices sounded behind him, hope rising in his chest, dying when I saw two strangers. He struggled to his feet, legs threatening to give out but too stubborn to stay down. He tried to reach for his gun with his left hand, the holster on the wrong side to grab it, spots already dancing in his vision but he didn't even have time to take aim before a meaty hand closed around his wrist. A second ripped his revolver away.

Words were hurled at him but they sounded as if he was underwater again. He snarled and struggled harder, trying break free. Another hand grabbed his shoulder, shaking him. He bit down on it, balking at the metallic taste it left in his mouth, but holding on until a weight slammed into the side of his head and everything went black.

* * *

When he came to, he first thought he was still in the water for the ground kept moving beneath him but gradually it seemed to stop, leaving him with only a pounding headache. He realized he was lying on the ground, his arms tied behind his back and upon moving he discovered that there was also a rope tied around his neck and fastened to a tree branch.

“Well, well, well, look who's awake. The little pup that bit me.”

Arthur's head snapped toward the direction of the voice, seeing two men standing there, wood gathered in their arms. The speaker was broad and tall, intimidating even if it weren't for the patchy ridiculous mustache he was sporting. The other was thinner and smaller though still towering over Arthur with his fourteen years. Both of them were dressed poorly, though if they were with the people who had attacked them Arthur couldn't say.

“What's wrong pup? Cat got your tongue?” He dropped the wood and knelt in front of Arthur, holding his chin with one hand, while brushing the fingers of his other hand over the side of his face. The slight touch sent fresh waves of pain through his body, joining the dull throbbing of his right wrist and the hammering in his head. He probably had a black eye that would make a raccoon jealous.

“You're not mad I hit you, are you? You did bite me”, the man continued either oblivious or willfully ignorant of Arthur's discomfort.

“Let go of me, asshole!”, Arthur snarled trying to pull out of the man's grasp but the man just tightened his hold.

“Oh, it got bark to back up it's bite”, he laughed as he ran his free hand through Arthur's hair. “There's no need to be like that, though. We're just trying to help. I'm sure your parents would like you back in one piece.”

Arthur froze.

“They must care a lot about you, dressing you like a little Lord Fauntleroy.” He smoothed his hand over Arthur's collar. “Would probably be very grateful for your safe return.”

With a start Arthur realized the man was hoping for ransom. The clothes that had helped him keep a low profile during their jobs apparently looking far too rich for the poor country they were passing through. And it wasn't like he could just them he was riding with two outlaws, at least not if he wanted to survive. He had no doubt they'd get rid of him the moment he was no use to them. He couldn't even give them an address and hope Dutch and Hosea would figure it out because they hadn't set up a camp yet. He'd have to figure something out.

“If you untie me I'll tell them to send you some money”, he offered.

“You're cute, pup, but we both know it's far too dangerous to let you leave on your own.” He forcefully turned Arthur's face to the side. “Just look at you, got a nasty bruise on your face already.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Screw you.”

The man finally let go. “Well, suit yourself. If you change your mind, let us know.”

He got up and joined his partner building a campfire, just out of Arthur's reach. Arthur sat down, letting his head hit the tree with a dull thud. He hated this. Hated being reduced to helplessness again. All they had wanted to do was get to the next town before nightfall, Was that too much to ask? Apparently. He sighed, wondering how far the river had carried him. Wondering how far he was from Dutch and Hosea.

He let his eyes roam around camp. He needed something with a sharp edge, anything really. Getting up again, and using what little room the rope allowed he scanned the ground. A few stray pebbles were scattered close by and he kicked those around trying to look bored and inconspicuous. None of the stones were of any use, being either too small or smooth. If he had use of both his hands he could hammer two stones together and create an edge. But then, if he had use of both his hands, he could've already freed himself.

He barely managed to suppress a snarl, pulling at his leash in frustration. It gave. He stopped short, checking to see if the men noticed but for once he got lucky. Looking up he realized the rope could be pulled along the branch – not all the way off unfortunately as it branched out but it could give him a far greater range.

He scanned the camp again, looking further this time. There was a knife. Poking out from an open satchel was a knife handle, practically begging to be stolen. He risked another look at his captors. They were sitting with their backs to him, preparing dinner by the looks of it and utterly unconcerned by whatever he might be doing. Unfortunately, there was still no way he could get away with stealing the knife while they were awake. He narrowed his eyes. He could wait.

Just then, because the day just kept getting better, the bigger of the two men noticed his stare, turning to him with a smirk. “You want some of this?”, he asked gesturing to his food, obviously misinterpreting Arthur's stare.

He took a bite, making a show of humming appreciatively. “You just gotta say so.” Another smirk.

Arthur heard the trap in his voice, even if he didn't know exactly what it was, but by god he was hungry, the smell alone enough to make his stomach rumble.

“Sure”, he ventured.

The man's smirk widened. “Tell us what we want to know and we'll get you something.” He took another bite.

His anger flared at that, hot and vicious, partly at himself for falling for it and partly at the other one for mocking him like that.

“Go to hell”, he ground out.

The man shrugged, completely unaffected by the venom in Arthur's voice. “Fine by me. Sooner or later you'll get hungry.”

Arthur stalked back to the tree, sitting down with his back against it. He'd make them regret messing with him. Settling in for a long wait, he closed his eyes. Sleep, he had learned, was a good way to deal with hunger.

He woke with a start, disorientated and stiff, almost falling over, bound arms limiting his balance. Rolling his shoulders to get some feeling back though aborting the motion when his wrist protested loudly, he checked on the two men. Both of them were fast asleep, the fire almost reduced to embers, only dimly flickering against the darkness around them.

He scoffed. Both seemed completely ignorant to the fact that there were robbers and other kinds of degenerates about. Dutch and Hosea would've set up a guard, or at the very least wouldn't have set up their camp in such an obvious location. Anyone could stumble across them here. If he hadn't gotten swept away by the river, fools like these never would've caught him.

He shook his head, willing himself to focus. He had more important things to worry about. Getting up with some difficulty, he positioned himself directly under the branch, trying to grasp the rope with his left hand. His right refused to cooperate but he didn't fancy strangling himself while pulling. Closing his eyes to better focus, he felt the fibers sliding along his arm, slipping over his fingertips.

Grabbing the rope, his hold tenuous at best, he took a deep breath and pulled, silently cursing when the rope was ripped from his hand. Scowling he reached for it again, holding as tight as he could given the awkward angle and tried again, this time walking backward, watching as the knot was slowly pulled along the branch.

When the branch split into two, making it impossible to go further, he took a moment to collect himself. The men were still sleeping soundly, their breathing even and occasional snores breaking the silence. The bag was still where they had left it, closed now but the knife should still be in there. He would feel a lot braver if the big man weren't sleeping so close but he had faced worse. Sliding into position he reached out with his foot, freezing in terror when the man stirred in his sleep but forcing himself to stay calm.

He could do this. Looping his foot around the strap, he lifted the bag of the ground, fighting to keep his balance. With a maneuver of lifting, setting it down to readjust his stance and lifting again he managed to carry it far enough that he could risk opening it.

He knelt down next to the bag, lifted its cover, hand feeling around for anything knife-shaped. His hand brushed along smooth wood. He smirked. Fingers closing around the handle, he pulled the knife.

“You think you're so clever, don't you?” The quiet menace made his blood run cold.

The second man, the smaller one he had paid no attention to, was awake and angry. The look he gave Arthur was enough to get him moving, rolling forward onto his knees and jumping up. He let go of the knife, backing away as far as he could. If he was lucky they wouldn't notice.

“That what you wanted?” The man picked up the sheathed knife, pointing it at Arthur. His partner was stirring, awoken by the noise.

“Why would you want that-” He took a threatening steps towards Arthur. “- unless... You planned to kill us, didn't you? Slit our throats while we sleep?” He was growing louder with each word.

“No!”

“DON'T FUCK WITH ME!” He grabbed Arthur's collar, slamming him hard into the tree before holding the knife to his throat.

“Maybe we should get rid of you after all.” He paused.

Arthur held his breath as the man give him a speculative look, briefly risking letting his flicker over to the second man coming to stand behind his partner. The knife under his chin moved, forcing him to tilt his face up.

“You're going to behave.” It wasn't a question.

The man cut the rope from Arthur's neck, before pushing him down to the ground and winding the rope around his chest and the tree, tight enough to dig painfully into his bruises. Tugging at the bindings and apparently satisfied Arthur wasn't going anywhere they left him alone again.

“Assholes”, he muttered.

* * *

“Hey! Wake up!” Someone was patting his cheek, almost slapping really. The big man was crouching in front of him, idly twirling a knife.

“My friend and I were talking”, he told Arthur. “And we just don't understand. With clothes like yours, and even a gun of your own, someone clearly cares about you. And it's not like we're being unreasonable if we're gonna ask about a little compensation for our efforts.”

He cocked his head.

“So there's only one explanation we can think of – you are someone's pet and you ran away from your master.”

He waited as if expecting Arthur to confirm his theory. Arthur bit his cheek. The only remark he had right on the tip of his tongue would only get him punched or worse. When he didn't say anything the man continued unfazed.

“Now I don't know why you ran away but I can promise you, whatever your master will do when you get back, it is better than what happens once my patience runs out”, he promised, voice slowly dropping to a snarl. He stopped twirling the knife and pointed it directly at Arthur's chest.

“So. Talk.”

Arthur swallowed. This was a bad idea but- “Go to hell!”

Suddenly the man lunged forward, cutting the rope holding Arthur and yanking him forward by his collar, dragging him along. He headed toward the river, forcing Arthur to walk backwards into the water, only stopping once they were kneedeep. The current tugged at his legs.

He tried not to look intimidated despite the dread pooling in his stomach.

The man raised his eyebrow at him. “You really wanna do this the hard way?”

Arthur stuck his chin, glaring at the man defiantly. The man shrugged. Suddenly Arthur was lifted off his feet and into the air, forced to meet the man's cold gaze.

“This is your fault”, he told Arthur, adjusting his grip slightly and –

“Excuse me, good sir-” Arthur felt himself go weak with relief, Dutch's voice unmistakable even if he couldn't see anything beyond the angry face in front of him. “- I'll have to inform you that unless you put the boy down right now, neither you nor your associate will live to see another day.”

The man spun around, dragging Arthur with him and using him like a shield. Dutch was right there, revolver in hand, and behind him Hosea, holding the other man at gunpoint. Both looked angrier than he had ever seen but for once he wasn't worried about it. He wanted to tell Dutch to just shoot but he knew better than to interfere. The grip on his collar tightened.

“This is none of your business so-”, the man tried.

“Oh but it is.” Dutch's voice lost its paper thin friendly veneer revealing volcanic anger. “You let go our boy go right. Now.”

“He's yours?”, the man behind him practically crowed, tone suddenly stark contrast to before. “We fished the poor thing out of the river, all wet and confused. Hit his head, we think.” A hand ran through his hair, much to his annoyance. “Had to tie him up for his own safety – you understand”, he continued.

“We understand just fine.”

Arthur's eyes snapped to Hosea, the ice in his voice completely foreign to him.

His captor seemed completely oblivious. “We were going to bring him back to you, of course. Little thing just wouldn't tell us where to find you.”

Dutch took a step forward.

“Well, you found us.” Another step. “We'll take him from here and be out of your hair soon enough.”

The man chuckled. “Of course, of course. We wouldn't wanna keep you. Except – we took care of him, you know. Kept him safe, even gave him food and water-”

Arthur's anger flared at that. “Liar! You didn't-” The hand in is hair tightened abruptly, jerked his head back, cutting him off and forcing him to look at his captor.

“Arthur!”, Dutch cried out. “Just stay quiet, son!” Though he couldn't see him anymore, the urgency in Dutch's voice was clear.

“You want money? Fine. Take it and go.”

His hair was released and he was pushed forward toward where Dutch was. A few feet away there was a money clip lying on the ground. Further back Hosea had let go of the other man though he still had his gun trained at him. The moment the hand let go of his collar Arthur stumbled toward Dutch eager to get away from the strangers and back to his family while dreading being grabbed from behind if they decided whatever Dutch paid them wasn't enough.

The second he got close Dutch, the man pulled him against his chest with his left arm, holding him there as a shot rang out, closely followed by a second. Arthur flinched but when he tried to move, Dutch held on to him even tighter.

“They won't hurt you again”, Dutch told him, voice low and dangerous. Arthur blinked at the implications. He'd known Dutch and Hosea had killed people, had seen them do it, too. But those times it had been kill or be killed, this was different.

He didn't move when Dutch cut the ropes around his wrists, letting his arms hang limply by his side despite the pins and needles shooting through him. He didn't move when Dutch ran his hands over the bruises on Arthur's face or neck or wrist, merely nodding when Dutch asked him if he was alright and he didn't move when he heard the sound of something heavy being dragged across the uneven ground followed by splashing.

“It was us or them”, Dutch told him. “I need you to understand that.”

Hosea came to stand beside them. “What about their horses?”, he asked.

“Turn 'em loose. Not likely we'll find someone who'd buy them out here and I'd rather not waltz into town with two stolen horses.”

Hosea nodded and disappeared from Arthur's field of view, though by jingling of horse tack Arthur had no trouble imagining what he was doing. Dutch finally stepped away from Arthur, though he kept one hand on his shoulder, steering him towards their horses. Arthur's heart twisted painfully when he realized Ginger was missing. He looked around, hoping to see her but knowing he wouldn't.

He had only just taught her to come when he whistled. Dutch lifted him onto his mare's back, then mounted in front of him, telling him to hold on. He did, with his left hand at least, keeping the other close to his chest. He let the world pass by in a blur, too exhausted in more way than one to care. It was only when they veered off the beaten path and into the woods that he glanced up again, not sure what to expect. He sure as hell wasn't expecting a familiar whinny or the sight of red mane.

“Ginger”, he breathed. He jumped off, despite is body protesting, his own injuries unimportant with Ginger looking so miserable. Her knees were bloody, there was a large gash on her shoulder and she was favoring her right foreleg. There was a cloth wrapped around her hoof.

“Hey girl”, he greeted her, gently stroking her muzzle with his left hand. She whinnied softly.

“I think she was worried about you”, Hosea told him, stopping next to him. “We all were.”

Arthur froze momentarily until Ginger nudged his hand, demanding more affection. He glanced at Hosea at of the corner of his eye, unsure what to do.

“She gonna alright?”, he asked in a small voice. He knew what happened to horses that couldn't run anymore.

“Yeah, she'll be fine. She's a tough cookie. Would've tried to follow us all the way if we hadn't tied her up.” Hosea reached out and patted her neck. “But whether she likes it or not, she needs to take it easy or a while.”

He turned to Arthur.

“How about you? How're you doing?”

“I'm fine”, Arthur lied.

“That is bullshit and we both know it”, Hosea told him gently, crouching down as if uncomfortable with towering over him.

“Did these men hurt you?”

He shook his head. He didn't want to think about them.

“Please talk to me.”

He glanced at Hosea again, still waiting patiently for an explanation, then back at Ginger. It was easier if he didn't have to look at him.

“You- you killed those people”, he ventured. “They were unarmed and you shot them.”

A sigh. He thought, he saw Hosea rub a hand over his face but he kept his eyes forward.

“We did. It's not like we wanted to but we did. Look, I won't insult you by saying we didn't have a choice and expect you to take that as justification.” Hosea took a deep breath. “What do you think would have happened if he had let them go?”

Arthur shrugged. “Dunno? They'd have left?”, he tried.

“Two men, whose first thought when they find an injured boy is to tie him up and hold him for ransom, would leave peacefully once they realize the boy's parents would have more money and are probably too tired to put up much of a fight?”

At this Arthur's eyes snapped toward Hosea, wanting to argue but stopping short, once he finally took a proper look and noticed the dark circles under Hosea's eyes, the tired slump of his shoulders and the tears in the usually immaculate outfit.

“I guess not”, he admitted.

“Chances are, they would've tried something the moment our backs where turned. We weren't going to risk that. Or let someone hurt you again.”

At this he brushed his fingers over Arthur's cheek, hovering close to his bruised eye.

“I promised, I'd keep you safe, didn't I?”

Arthur looked down, ashamed of his earlier reaction when they were just looking out for him.

“Then you really didn't have a choice”, he murmured. A hand lifted his chin, making him meet Hosea's gaze.

“But we did have a choice”, Hosea told him firmly. “That's the point. We could've done nothing and taken our chance. But we made the choice that would keep our family safe – and we always will. It's only cowards that say they have no choice.” He gave Arthur a smile. Small and tired as it was, Arthur found himself returning it.

“Now, let me take a look at that wrist of yours. I might even give you a bandage to match Ginger's.”

Arthur nodded, letting Hosea prod and poke at his wrist, infinitely relieved when Hosea declared it sprained not broken, as well as the various other cuts and bruises he'd collected in the last day and a half. Even the unidentifiable goo – the result of what Dutch generously called cooking – tasted better knowing he had people who were there for him even if it meant making hard choices.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, it's almost two a.m. and I have no idea what I'm doing anymore  
'cept being mean to Arthur of course >:-) writing a bit of Arthur!Whump is always fun even if it takes me forever (I am not a fast writer)
> 
> unless the muse changes her mind the next ficlet will have an appearance of Bessie  
(friggin' plot bunnies, I swear - you write one and before you're halfway done another one's sitting next to you looking at you with big, round eyes)
> 
> as always comments are greatly appreciated, the plotbunnies must be fed after all ♥ (look, they're sitting right there with their big, big eyes and fluffy paws. say hi)


End file.
